


splitting.

by auto



Category: VIXX
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Heartbreak, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, hongbin has bpd, one-sided sangbin, sangbin/hongyuk if you squint, taekwoon got a job in the states
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:58:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auto/pseuds/auto
Summary: Taekwoon had entered Hongbin’s life like a balm, seeping his way into all his cracks and crevices. He’d filled him up with himself and made him feel whole again. Now here he was, pulling away, leaving him frail, leaving him unsupported, leaving him empty.He felt broken.--He knows this isn’t okay. He knows he isn’t supposed to throw up from the pain of being forgotten for twenty minutes, or when Taekwoon rejects his call because he’s busy. He knows he isn’t supposed to want to throw himself out the window just because Taekwoon doesn’t text him for a day – he isn’t supposed to actually try to do that when one day stretches to three.





	1. the departing.

The refrigerator hums louder than any word or any breath that has been uttered within the past twenty minutes. Cage to cage, the two chests in the room heave silently, a challenge clasped between both sets of lungs. Four eyes; one pair rimmed with despair, the other lidded and somber.

Silence.

The brown-haired boy sits back in the other’s lap and looks at him behind the veil of his lashes. He takes any opportunity he can to hide. Nothing comes out of his mouth.

“It’s only for a couple of years.” The boy with feline eyes soothes, running a hand through his partner’s hair, tracing another down his damp cheeks.

He says nothing. Instead, a small, disoriented noise escapes him. He dips his head down and lets his waterfall of brown hair shield his face. His body shivers with the strain of words unsaid.

Three words.

A promise, a plea, a bearing of guts and gore so raw that the very thought of being that vulnerable is agony.

But behind that pain, behind that wall, there’s hope. An oily little voice in his head whispers to him. _Maybe if he knows how much you love him, he won’t leave_. But then him own mind counters: _if he realizes how special he is, he’ll realize he deserves better than me_.

The long-haired boy leans forward, tries to press a kiss to his forehead. Hongbin pulls away sharply, afraid of how badly he wants it, aware of how much he’ll miss it. Taekwoon doesn’t even flinch, instead returns to stroking his hair. He’s used to this by now, he knows how he works.

“I know we can do it. I love you, Hongbin.” He tips his chin up and smiles into his tear-smudged eyes.

As they make eye contact, the thousands of thoughts that have been spinning in Hongbin’s mind conglomerate into one messy sentence. It’s not enough, it’s not coherent, it doesn’t describe the tornado of pain he feels trapped in. But it gets the point across:

“You’re going to be so far,” He chokes out. He sounds wounded, vulnerable, childish. He hates that.

“Yes, but—”

“I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” It is then that he demolishes the wall that had been erected between them during this conversation, the barrier blocking them from physical contact. He folds like a reed into Taekwoon’s arms, and he sobs.

He’d showed him what love could be—not searing, destructive and chaotic but warm, comforting, levelled. He’d torn down all the bricks that had built up his perception of the world around him and rebuilt them to something better, a house for them instead of a barricade for himself. They had made something amazing together, but it was all in vain.

Taekwoon had entered Hongbin’s life like a balm, seeping his way into all his cracks and crevices. He’d filled him up with himself and made him feel whole again. And now here he was, pulling away, leaving him frail, leaving him unsupported, leaving him empty.

He felt broken.

“Don’t be so negative,” Taekwoon pleads, but he sounds weaker than before. “It’s only a little while. It’s—”

“America’s an eleven-hour time difference.” He interrupts, shattering broken sound into the air of the cold living room. “I can’t have a relationship where our only conversation will be ‘good morning’s and ‘goodnight’s. I could barely handle being away from you when I was in Japan.”

Taekwoon pulls his hand away from his hair, and Hongbin leans even farther away from him. If they felt millions of miles apart when they were still touching, he wondered what kind of wanton agony would wreak him once Taekwoon left.

“You know what the worst part of this is?” He looks to his left as he speaks, deliberately avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t answer, but he continues.

“It’s one thing to lose someone when you realize they aren’t good for you, but..” Taekwoon watches his eyelids flutter a little bit as a reel of memories play behind them.

“This was perfect.” Hongbin admits softly, head bowed down. “ **You** are perfect.” He looks at the floor. Anywhere but at him.

“Bin.” Taekwoon’s voice is stern, as it usually is when Hongbin’s being dramatic. He knows he’s being dramatic. Normally that voice would bring him back to earth. But he wants to indulge in this pain, because it’s the last time he won’t suffer through it alone.

He leans their foreheads together, and he confesses, his voice a tiny whisper:

“You were the loveliest accident to ever happen to me. The best thing I never deserved.”

 


	2. the breaking.

Hongbin stares down at his phone, heart thudding, eyes glazed and unfocused. Why wasn’t he replying? It had been twenty minutes already. Was it normal for someone to drop off in the middle of a conversation? Of course it wasn’t—if it was he wouldn’t be so worked up right now.

 

He types an angry message in the text field. He doesn’t send it. Backspace, backtrack. Type it again. No, it’s too aggressive. Type it again. Backspace. Type. Backspace.

 

Hands shaking, he starts to type to Taekwoon for the 10th time before he realizes he’s crying. His heart drops through his chest when he realizes that the reason it took him so long to notice is because he’s becoming used to the feeling.

 

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d felt alone like this.

 

He knew they shouldn’t have done this long-distance thing. He couldn’t handle it. Taekwoon wasn’t a particularly good texter – rather, Hongbin’s boyfriend was quite forgetful and often neglected to reply to him for hours or once, a couple of days (A chill runs down his spine at the memory. He thought he had chosen to forget).

 

There’s a most familiar burning sensation in his chest, an agony that has been with him so often since Taekwoon’s departure he almost finds the feeling comforting. He knows he has been defeated by his own relationship—trapped between the two poles of wanting more of Taekwoon’s attention and knowing he has no right to ask for it.

 

It would be better if Taekwoon wanted to talk to him personally, but he knew the taller boy wasn’t a huge fan of phone calls.

 

He was doomed. Hongbin lets out a small, choked whimper, like the pain he has been suppressing was trying to escape his throat. He was in so much pain—the distance – the loneliness – it hurt so fucking much.

 

Hongbin’s stomach lurches with agony when his mind starts to spiral. Thoughts assault his mind like a barrage. He is the target of his own mind, and he couldn’t be more vulnerable to the attacks. A gasp of pain escapes him, the sound shrinking him 10 years. He feels like he’s a child again, hiding in the closet while mommy and daddy fight.

 

_Why can’t he answer me on time?_

_Is it because he doesn’t care? He never did._

_I bet he’s completely fine right now. He doesn’t give a shit if I’m suffering. He’s forgotten me._

**_I am nothing to him._ **

 

His vision blurs. It’s familiar. He knows where this is going.

 

He gets up from the couch and stumbles his way to the bathroom, his heart thudding. He walks like his bones have turned to powder. Unsurely, more like he’s falling over himself rather than walking manually.

 

He falls to his knees in front of the toilet. It doesn’t even take prompting, the unease and anxiety pours out of him. Brown sludge fills the porcelain bowl, splashes all over the seat, the floor. It gets in his hair and all over his face.

 

Dirty.

 

Hongbin collapses on the toilet and sobs into the bowl. His pain transcends shame, transcends hygiene, transcends his normal fear of germs. All he can think is that Taekwoon doesn’t _love him anymore_ and he’s _forgotten_ him. Except he knows he hasn’t been forgotten, Taekwoon is just busy or something and he’ll message him back eventually and then Hongbin will feel like the luckiest guy in the world until he forgets to message him back again, then they’ll start this roller coaster all over again.

 

It’s an endless loop of pain, he thinks.

 

Tears continue to stream down his face, mixing with his own putrid vomit, and he’s howling now, broken screams escaping his throat. Why is this so easy for Taekwoon but so hard for him? Why isn’t he good enough? What kind of man can’t handle waiting for a text? How would he ever be happy in this relationship if this cycle of hell was to be his reality? He can’t do it, he can’t. He never should have fucking done this.

 

He wants to throw up again. He needs to – needs to feel something other than this pain pulling on every edge of himself. He scrabbles forward, angling himself to stick his fingers down his throat. He’s not leaving this toilet until the bowl turns crimson.

 

He doesn’t register the arms around his shoulders until he’s being pulled—dragged – off the toilet. He struggles against the grip, screaming louder:

 

“No,” He screeches, the sound guttural and primal. It even scares him. “Let me do it. I’m broken. I’m defective. I deserve this!”

 

But his pleas are ignored— he is instead silenced with a cold, wet rag brushing against his face. Cleaning him, removing the dirt. Hongbin knows it’s pointless, though— he’ll always be filthy on the inside. Damned and disgusting.

 

“I hate seeing you like this, Bean.” Hyuk’s voice is warm in his ear. Paternal, even, despite the taller boy being younger than him.

 

When Hongbin recognizes the voice, he feels his panic ebb and dull. Hongbin allows Hyuk to pilot him towards his bed, feeling hollow. The voice brings him back to earth, allowing the blunt of the panic to elude him. But he still feels miserable. He won’t forget, he can’t forget.

 

“He forgot me.” Hongbin sniffles.

 

“He didn’t,” Hyuk murmurs, like he’s dealt with this hundreds of times before.

 

Probably because he actually has. It’s only been a month, or even less, and these little episodes have happened every single day in varying degrees of severity.

 

Hyuk tucks Hongbin into their bed and hugs him to his chest. Hongbin takes up all the space that has been made available to him and cries quietly. He can feel Hyuk’s gaze on his head, but he choses to ignore it. Whenever Hyuk has tried, Hongbin has refused to talk about it, although they both know he’s afraid. Not only of what could be wrong with him, but also of himself.

 

It seems like these feelings will never end— the space in his heart that Taekwoon once resided in has now been replaced with necrotic flesh, toxic and bubbling jet black.

 

 

He knows this isn’t okay. He knows he isn’t supposed to throw up from the pain of being forgotten for twenty minutes, or when Taekwoon rejects his call because he’s busy. He knows he isn’t supposed to want to throw himself out the window just because Taekwoon doesn’t text him for a day – he isn’t supposed to actually _try to do that_ when one day stretches to three.

 

Taekwoon is not supposed to turn from  _his boyfriend_ to an  _idea_ , a  _question_ , a debatable figment of his imagination when he doesn't get constant feedback from him. Hongbin feels bile rise up in his throat again when a thought hits him. An oily, slimy thought that he's had no trouble repressing before pushes its way to the forefront of his mind and seizes him in a paralysis of anxiety:

 

_This isn’t normal._

 

“What’s wrong with me?” Hongbin stutters into Hyuk’s chest, terrified of himself.

 

Hyuk runs his fingers through Hongbin’s hair, and it’s then that he realizes Hyuk is shaking.

 

“I don’t know.” The younger boy whimpers. "Hongbin, you need to tell Taekwoon this is happening—"

 

"No!" Hongbin interrupts Hyuk all too quickly. He can't help it, though, his heart races at the very thought that Taekwoon could know how flawed he was. How broken, how needy. No, Hongbin thinks, then he would leave him for sure. At least now, he reasons, he still has Taekwoon. Even if it's agony. Even if it's like being stripped down and dipped in acid and fire day in and day out.

 

As long as he still has Taekwoon, he will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please message me on my twitter @lei-ezz if you wanna chat ! especially if you're going through something similar to what i've described in this fic -- you're not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> heya! thanks for reading. the title is a reference to borderline personality disorder. i know that i've romanticized the disorder in this fic, please don't think bpd is beautiful in any way -- it's fucking hell and oftentimes those who suffer it have to save themselves.


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